


your naked magic (oh dear lord)

by cherryonbottom



Series: cookies [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Belly Kink, Curses, Is that a thing, M/M, Making Out, Weight Gain, magical weight gain, uhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 05:20:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15812226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryonbottom/pseuds/cherryonbottom
Summary: Patrick should've listened to the weird feeling he had about those goddamn cookies - although he can't say he's complaining about how it all works out.





	your naked magic (oh dear lord)

**Author's Note:**

> i like to think of this fic as kind of a mix of the classic sex pollen set up and weight gain so. that sums it up pretty well i guess? obviously if you're not into this, don't read it?
> 
> if you do like this shit, feel free to stop by my (nsfw) tumblr @stuffedwentz, where i'm always happy to talk about some Big FOB + write for prompts if anyone has any they'd like written!
> 
> **there could be considered mildly dubious consent for the wg in this, i'll add a more detailed warning in the end notes if you want to check that out before you read the fic! (obvi the note will have light spoilers)**

It’s Pete’s fault. That’s Patrick’s go-to for pretty much everything, and even though Pete himself really had nothing to do with this particular situation, it’s still his goddamn fault for encouraging- not just suggesting, encouraging! - fans to bring them baked goods at meet and greets.

That was fine at first. Patrick may be more of an ice cream person, but the cookies and brownies and occasional cakes are really nice for a while. Until the one fucking day when they’re gathering all of the gifts up to take back to the van and Patrick’s eyes land on a small Tupperware container he’s sure he hasn’t seen before.

_“For Patrick!”_ A bright pink sticky note on the lid reads.

“Hey, guys, did you see who brought this one?” Patrick asks, holding it up.

Pete shakes his head but gives Patrick a toothy grin. “Looks like you have a secret admirer, Pattycakes.”

Patrick rolls his eyes as Joe comes over to look at the box as well.

“I don’t know, babe, I didn’t see who brought this one, just take it, I guess? It’s specially for you, after all.”

Patrick shrugs, more for everyone else to see than anything else, and adds the container to his modest pile of art, food, and other random things. Something about it gives him a weird (not bad, necessarily, just _weird_ ) feeling that he can’t quite shake as he follows the rest of the band back to the bus.

* * *

 

The tour’s over a week later, and it only takes Patrick three days after that to start feeling lonely. He’s currently back in the Chicago apartment he still keeps for times like this, and while Joe’s due to fly out tomorrow, the silence of the small space is too much.

So Patrick, like any responsible adult, turns to shitty TV and stress-eating. He’s made it through a decent portion of the stuff he received on tour already (his “coping mechanisms” are really just poorly disguised bad habits), and so the first thing he pulls out of the pile in his pantry is the strange Tupperware with the pink sticky note.

When he cracks the lid open, he’s greeted with a very full box of completely average-looking chocolate cookies. He really didn’t know what he expected, even if a weird feeling is still churning in his gut.

He takes the container back to the couch and is already taking a cookie out as he sits back down. And - they’re _really_ good cookies, holy shit. They’re at least over a week old, but they’re still soft and chewy and almost warm, and damn, Patrick’s eaten five before he realizes.

He feels like he’s eaten _way_ more than five cookies, his jeans feel sort of tight, for crying out loud, but no, he’s pretty sure that’s all he’s eaten. On the TV, another episode of _Friends_ is starting, and that’s when Patrick realizes that it’s almost one am.

“Ugh, I need to go to sleep,” he mutters to himself. He moves to get off the couch to get the remote, but he’s thrown off the weight of what feels like a bowling ball or some shit in his stomach. _What the fuck were those cookies made of?_ he thinks.

Patrick swears that he can see the swell of his stomach pressing against his shirt, his normally-loose shirt, he might add, but eating five cookies wouldn’t do _that,_ would it? He’s just tired. Tired and in the beginnings of a mild sugar coma, probably, so he writes it off as nothing and heads to bed.

* * *

The first thing Patrick notices when he wakes up is that his jeans are _really_ digging into his sides, and Jesus, this is why he never sleeps in actual pants. The second thing he notices is that the button of his jeans is… no longer intact. Instead it’s somehow ended up God knows where, and the two sides that are supposed to be held together are. Well. They’re … not held together.

Patrick’s stomach is, to put it lightly, kind of huge. Somehow, he’s gained enough chub overnight to fucking _pop the button on his jeans._

“What the _hell_?” he says, not meaning for it to escape his mouth in such a shrill tone. He sits up in bed quickly, eyes wide and fixated on the way his stomach drops onto his thighs before he’s up and running into the bathroom. And holy fucking shit, that’s…. not what he looked like last night.

The most obvious change is his stomach, which, while maybe not as bad as it looked lying in bed, still hangs down slightly, still forces his jeans apart, still jiggles slightly with every movement. His thighs are much bigger too, fuck, they’re still covered by his jeans but Patrick can see how tightly the denim is straining. He doesn’t even want to _know_ what his ass looks like right now.

His face also looks different, rounder and graced with a double chin every time he moves his head slightly. His arms are chubby, and his chest has a softness to it that definitely wasn’t there yesterday. Fuck. What the fuck happened? Patrick knows he’s been eating a lot of desserts and shit, but that wouldn’t do _this_ overnight -

_Cookies,_ his brain suggests helpfully, and while it seems completely illogical…. cookies. Maybe the weird feeling Patrick had about the cookies was actually _right._ Maybe they were cursed, somehow, to make him fat?

His first instinct is to text his boyfriend, but once he’s opened his phone - and Jesus Christ, even his fingers look chubbier - he realizes he has no idea what the fuck he’d say to Joe. _Hey babe, ate some cookies and got magically fat overnight? Send help?_ Yeah, no. There’s no way to explain this.

Patrick has literally just put his phone back down on the counter in favor of staring at his body (his body that he… doesn’t hate, actually, that’s a revelation right there) some more when it chimes softly.

_Hey Trick, my flight got bumped up a bit and I’m actually gonna be landing in an hour. Can you still pick me up?_

Patrick’s about to text back an _Of course!_ when he realizes that maybe going out in public like… _this_ is maybe not the best idea.

_Something kinda came up, are you okay with getting a cab?_ he replies.

Joe sends three thumbs-up emojis back, and then Patrick’s left to try to squeeze his phone into his not-usually-this-tight back pocket while he figures out what the hell he’s supposed to do.

* * *

 

Thirty minutes later (meaning Joe will get to Patrick’s apartment in about an hour, fuck), Patrick has not really made any progress on any sort of “plan.”

He’s been in his room trying on clothes in an attempt to find something he can actually fit into, and it…. hasn’t been going well. Patrick finally has to settle on an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that doesn’t quite stretch all the way over his stomach.

It’s, uh … well. Patrick’s never thought of himself as a “chubby chaser” or anything, but the way a roll of fat sticks out over the tight waistband of his pants is, uh, kind of hot. Sorta. He’s not, like, about to jerk off over himself, but he’s also not planning on running to the gym to try and get rid of the new weight anytime soon.

That’s a realization right there. Huh.

Patrick walks back into his bathroom slowly and gives himself another onceover in the mirror. Yeah, he’s _definitely_ fine with this, but will Joe be? It’s not like Patrick’s expecting Joe to, like, break up with him or anything, but it might be awkward if Joe didn’t -

A stray thought wanders up from Patrick’s subconscious then that effectively stops his other thoughts in their tracks. What if Joe’s on the same page as Patrick? While that seems unlikely, there’s no denying that it would be, uh, convenient.

And honestly, the more Patrick lets his subconscious out here, the more likely it seems that maybe Joe _is_ on the same page as Patrick.

Patrick’s known nearly all of Joe’s exes, and now that he lets himself think about it, he realizes that they’ve all been at least chubby. Even though (until last night, of course) Patrick has slimmed down some recently, that definitely wasn’t the case when he and Joe started dating.

_He’s actually a fucking chubby chaser,_ Patrick thinks. It feels a little bit like he’s jumping to conclusions, but … the evidence is there. Fuck. Well. This revelation changes his plans slightly.

He hadn’t been planning on trying to hide what happened from Joe, but he had been sort of planning on trying to make it look a little less of a big deal. Except now maybe Patrick doesn’t have to do that.

“Huh,” he says aloud. He feels like he should be freaking out a little more here, but honestly, he’s more than fine with the weight. He’d really only lost it at all before because of pressure from the label, but now that it’s just been handed back to him - with interest - he can’t find it in him to mind at all. And if his suspicions are right and Joe won’t mind either, well, this could work out very well for Patrick after all.

Patrick goes into the living room and picks the container of cookies up from where it was left on the coffee table. After only a moment of deliberation, he eats one as he carries the box back to the pantry.

He can feel the effects only a few minutes later; there’s a weird feeling all around his thighs and then the sweatpants he’s wearing lose any hint of looseness they ever had. “Damn,” Patrick whispers under his breath. He plops down onto the couch and marvels at the way his thighs now take up an entire large couch cushion as opposed to the half they used to. He’s half-tempted to eat another cookie, just to see what would happen, if he could get his stomach to swell out any further or if he -

There’s a knock on Patrick’s door.

“Come in!” Patrick calls. He shifts on the couch, suddenly afraid that Joe’s going to freak out, that everything Patrick’s assumed today is wrong, but then Joe steps into the apartment. Patrick sees the way Joe’s eyes instantly widen before growing dark and can’t help but grin a little. Oh, he fucking _called_ this shit.

“Hey!” Patrick says brightly.

Joe is just fucking staring - trying to pretend he’s not, but staring - and it takes him a moment to respond. “Patrick?” he finally manages. “I, uh, I’m not trying to - is this what, um, what came up?”

Patrick can’t help but snort a little at that. Joe Trohman, king of subtlety. “This?” Patrick asks, waving a hand in front of his body, and he can feel Joe’s eyes taking in even the soft differences of his fingers.

“Uh. Well, yeah, I’m not trying to be rude, obviously it’s fine, but _how_?”

“Do you remember that last meet and greet of tour when I found that box of cookies that no one remembered getting? They gave me a weird, weird feeling, I guess you’d say. But I ate some last night, and then I woke up. Uh. Like this.”

“Uh,” Joe says. He walks closer to Patrick, letting his suitcase drop to the ground as he sits down on the other side of the couch with his back against the armrest so he’s still facing Patrick. “That’s fucking insane, actually.”  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, casually stretching one hand over his head. He smirks a little internally when he sees Joe’s eyes drop down to stare at the section of Patrick’s belly that gets exposed.

Joe audibly clears his throat. “Well, like, are you okay?”

“I’m not completely freaking out, if that’s what you’re asking,” Patrick says with a laugh. “Like, yeah, it’s pretty weird that someone gave me cursed cookies that made me fat, but I don’t really… mind, I guess?”

“You don’t mind,” Joe repeats. He looks surprised by Patrick’s answer, and there’s a glint of some sort of hope, excitement, or horniness in his eyes (Patrick can’t quite tell. It might just be a mixture of all three.)

An scene is starting to play out in Patrick’s mind, and he’s reading his first line before he can really think too much about where this is going to go. “Nope, I really don’t mind,” Patrick says. He moves closer to Joe as he does so, placing a hand on the armrest behind Joe’s back and holding himself up over Joe just enough for his belly to brush the fabric of Joe’s t-shirt. “And,” Patrick continues, murmuring his words right into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck, “you clearly don’t mind either.”

Joe’s next words come between short, quick breaths. “What - what are you talking about?”

“I’m not blind, I’ve seen all of your exes, and more importantly, I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me since you got here,” Patrick says. He shifts forward even more, moving one leg over so that he’s straddling Joe. “So I mean, like, we can pretend that, uh, that neither of us are into this, or we could… well, we could fuck. I really want to get out of these clothes, they’re really goddamn tight.”

That last sentence seems to be what pushes Joe over the edge. “Jesus Christ, don’t fucking judge me for anything that comes out of my mouth from here on out,” he warns, and then his hands are coming up to start pulling at the hem of Patrick’s shirt as Patrick captures his mouth in a kiss.

Joe makes quick work of Patrick’s shirt, pushing it up in less than a second and reluctantly pulling away from Patrick’s mouth just enough for Patrick to throw it aside.

“Fuck, Joe,” Patrick breathes out. It’s been obvious for several minutes now that Joe is very much into this, but Patrick hadn’t realized just _how_ into it he really is. Joe’s grabbing at Patrick’s skin the second his shirt hits the ground next to the couch, digging his fingers into the fat of Patrick’s stomach and practically whimpering into Patrick’s mouth.

“This can’t be fucking real,” Joe gasps out. “Holy fuck. Holy fucking fuck.”

“It’s real,” Patrick says, the words coming out as half-laugh, half-moan as Joe grabs a handful of the chub around his right nipple. “ _Fuck,_ Joe, let’s, let’s go to my room.”

Joe looks almost disappointed at the prospect of having Patrick get off of him, but he slowly sits up and follows Patrick into the bedroom. When they fall onto the unmade sheets, Joe ends up on top. Patrick manages to push all of his clothes off as they make out, Joe’s hands still wandering all over Patrick’s belly and chest and playing with the chub like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

Patrick’s never seen Joe like this in bed, and it kind of makes him feel like he’s going to fucking come any second. He tries to form a coherent sentence, like, “Fuck me,” or something, but all that comes out is a breathy moan as Joe yanks Patrick’s sweatpants down over his thighs and starts biting at Patrick’s love handles.

“Joe, please,” Patrick finally manages, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Soon,” Joe assures him. He presses a kiss to the particularly rough bite he just left on Patrick’s thigh before his hands slide around to squeeze Patrick’s ass and he moves forward again to start biting at Patrick’s neck. “Jesus Christ, Trick, you’d think you’d been putting on weight for months like this, you got so fucking big in just one night.”

Joe’s not usually big on dirty talk, and Patrick really isn’t either, but _fuck,_ the words falling from Joe’s mouth feel just as good as the hickeys he’s leaving whenever he takes a break from talking. Patrick’s pushing his hips up without even really realizing what he’s doing, his hands scratching invisible lines down Joe’s back as he pushes his dick into Joe’s thigh.

“What, fuck, what do you think would happen if you ate more of those cookies?” Joe groans, grinding his hips down to meet Patrick’s, one hand on Patrick’s ass and the other digging into Patrick’s side. “I bet you wouldn’t be able to fit into any of your clothes, huh? You’d just be so big, Trick, you’d be fucking huge.”

"Joe, I -"

"Would you let me feed you more?" Joe asks. His voice is getting breathier in that way that always means he's close. "Would you let me do that to you? Let me make you fat?"

That's the last straw before Patrick’s coming, his weak attempt at an actual response dissolving into what’s almost a yell. He can feel the way his entire body jiggles as his orgasm shakes through him, and he can feel the way Joe’s watching it all with wide eyes and blown pupils.

“Jesus fuck, babe, fuck, I’m gonna-” Joe rolls his hips down harder one more time before he’s coming too, all over the bite marks on Patrick’s thighs.

For a long moment, they just lie together, and then Joe rolls off of Patrick and blows out a short, loud breath. “That… just happened,” he says finally. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Patrick agrees. “That was… wow. Did you - “

“Yeah,” Joe answers. “Yeah. That was _very_ wow. You, uh, you don’t think I’m gross or anything, right?”

Patrick turns onto his side so he can give his boyfriend one of his _Are you serious right now?_ looks. “Joe. Of fucking course not. That was pretty much the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”  
  
“Yeah… true,” Joe says, laughing a little for a second before he abruptly stops. “Well, um, in that case. I’m just wondering. Uh. Do you still have any of those cookies, by any chance?”

Patrick grins. “There’s almost a whole box left downstairs. You should, uh, get those - I’m kinda hungry.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i live off of feedback!
> 
> **mildly dubious consent warning: patrick doesn't know that eating the cookies will make him gain weight. he's perfectly fine with having gained it, but it seemed worth mentioning that he's kind of in the dark at first in case that could bother someone!**


End file.
